


Seventh Inning Kiss

by celestialfreckles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mascot!Dean, POV Dean Winchester, brief homophobic language (I apologize), i saw a video on YT and thought imagine your OTP, mentions of Saileen and Darlie, which I then did and wrote this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 10:13:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8574328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialfreckles/pseuds/celestialfreckles
Summary: Kiss cams are ridiculous and embarrassing . . . even more so if your boyfriend doesn't participate.





	

**Author's Note:**

> here's the [video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SSSBXPda50w) in question. I hope you enjoy the fic! :)

Sweat trickled down the back of Dean’s neck, dripping below the collar of his thin black t-shirt. He grimaced at the feeling, his skin crawling beneath the thin sheen of grime covering him. In a futile attempt, he tried to wipe the sweat off his neck, but his hand never made contact with his skin. Instead, his cloth plumage of a hand wiped at the neck of his oversized, bulbous head.

Obnoxious polka played around him, the _oompa_ of the tuba gnawing away at his sanity. Dean moved in time to the music, his arms — well, in this case, with wings — flapping at his side. He looked up at the crowd sitting in the stands of Eagleton Stadium, home of the Lawrence Eagles. From what he could see through the thin mesh covering his beak, about half the people were up, joining him in the dancing of the illustrious and totally not embarrassing _Chicken Dance_.

Did it matter that he was crying on the inside? No? Well, all right then.

Being the mascot — _Eugene Eagleton_ , as the owner of the stadium always insisted he call himself — of the local minor league baseball team was not Dean’s idea of a good time. Or anyone else’s, he imagined, but he needed the money. Five hundred bucks per night to dress up in an eagle costume that smelled questionably like sweat (his own), tears (not his…yet), and urine (definitely not his) . . . well . . . a little humiliation would be worth it if he could pay his student loans off that much faster.

The DJ switched the song from _The Chicken Dance_ to the _Macarena_ , and Dean glowered his indignation toward the control box above the stands. Gabe loved to torture him during the seventh inning stretch. Through the thick padding of Eugene Eagleton's head, he could hear the muffled laughter of the baseball team. He did not have to turn around to know own that they were watching him from where he stood atop the dugout.

Dean gritted his teeth, swinging his hips in an exaggerated motion as he danced along to Gabe’s musical torture device. A wolf whistle came from behind him, followed by laughter, and Dean smirked, despite his embarrassment. Benny either just earned his self a punch in the face or Dean’s tab when the team went out tonight after the game. Maybe both. 

Dean would decide after he shed Eugene for the day and showered.

The last notes of Macarena thrummed through the air, and Dean stopped dancing preemptively, the half-enthusiastic, half-indifferent crowd finishing the dance for him as he waved at them with both hands — well, wings — and started to get down from the dugout, motioning to a cheekily grinning Benny and Victor to help him down.

Once his feet were firmly on the ground, he muttered, “I feel gross.” Or at least, he tried to.

“Nope. Mascots don’t speak.” Dean, as well as Benny and Victor, turned to see Zachariah Mc’Fly owner and manager of the Eagles, leaning against the side of the dugout. “Next time, try to actually put some effort into your dancing. I don't like the feeling that you’re a waste of not only my time but also my money.” 

Dean growled, actually growled, and balled his hands into fists at his side. Benny patted his shoulder in sympathy, and Dean glimpsed him through the mesh screen of his beak moving back to join Victor and the rest of the team under the dugout. “Go get a drink or whatever. Be back after the kiss cam is done.”

The weight of his eagle head pressed down on his shoulders, the padded bars supporting it digging into his muscles as he trudged to the door below the stands. Dean fumbled with the door knob, opening it when the strumming of a distant guitar filled the stadium, followed then by a breathy “ _Kiss me_ — “

Dean rolled his eyes as he beheaded Eugene, setting the mascot head on the seat he would usually be sitting in during whatever short breaks he got. Snatching the towel hanging on the hook by the door, Dean wiped the sweat beginning to cake his skin away as he glanced up at the big screen and the cheese graphic framing couples in the audience. 

At the moment, it hovered over two men, and the audience cheered. 

Dean froze, watching the screen with equal parts horror and interest. One of them was taking a sip of his beer, doing a triple take when he noticed they were on the screen. Dean could see him sputtering thought the screen, and he grinned. The man’s reaction as almost as adorable as he was, from what Dean could tell. Tapping his boyfriend’s, Dean assumed, shoulder, the cute guy gestured to the screen. His boyfriend was on the phone, shifting away from the cute guy as he continued to talk to the person on the other end of his cell. The cute guy shrunk back into his seat a tad, his lips pursing as he looked back at the screen.

The camera shifted away, the crowd letting out a nearly unified sympathy _aww_. Dean wanted to join them, but instead he looked away for a second and grabbed his water bottle to take a few quick sips before he had to slip back into Eugene’s head. 

A man and woman were on screen now, the couple currently taking a selfie. A laugh rippled through the crowd as the woman tapped the man's chest, trying to get his attention back to the phone as he looked up at the big screen. Dean could see his cheeks flush, and he smiled, watching as the man signed something rapidly to his girlfriend, who then looked up at the screen, her phone dropping into the lap of her sundress. Cheers from the crowd followed as she grabbed the sides of his open flannel shirt, pulling him down into a kiss. 

Grinning, Dean bent down to grab Eugene's head once again, dropping it heavily onto his shoulders before looking back up to the big screen. It was back on the two men, and Dean winced, feeling for the cute guy as the crowd erupted in cheers once again. He huffed, a small smile touching his lips as he tapped his boyfriend's arm again.

"Look, we're on the screen," Dean imagined he was saying. The boyfriend, whom Dean would now refer to as Dick, pulled his phone a little away from his ear, shaking his head as he pointed at it. Dean could almost see Dick roll his eyes as he went back to his mobile conversation. The cute guy looked away and at the screen, an awkward laugh dying on his lips as the camera left them for another couple.

Two women this time, the redhead kissing the brunette enthusiastically, both smiling through their many quick kisses. The crowd's enthusiasm doubled, much to absolutely no one's surprise. Dean ignored the big screen, stepping back and looking up to the stands, scanning them in the hopes of finding the two men. They sat in Section G, Dean knew, having caught a glimpse of the letter in the first time they were on screen. 

He started walking toward the gate that would let him up into the stands, one of the staff members opening it up for him to enter. Dean felt hands on him as he hurried up the steps of Section L, ignoring them for the time being as he cut across the top of Section L to G. Looking over at the screen again, they were on it again, the cute guy upset now — not that Dean blamed him. Whoever was running the camera was being a fucking dick — and punched the arm of his boyfriend. Dean looked down at G below him, seeing the commotion unfold at the edge of Row 18. 

Dean started down the steps, watching where he put his oversized plush talons as he approached the two men. He reached around the cute guy — who was much cuter up close. Like, what the hell? Even through the thin black mesh, Dean knew that he had never seen eyes quite as blue, but it could just be because he was so infuriated — and pulled him up from his seat, guiding him into the aisle behind him.

Beer sloshed over his hand, and Dean watched it fall onto the concrete. Dean grabbed the beer cup from the cute guy's hand and dumped it over Dick's head. The crowd erupted then, people standing around the three of them and cheering. Dean tossed the empty cup at Dick's head, freezing for a split second when it bounced off and into the excited crowd. He had come up here without a plan; he had just wanted the guy to not be a prick anymore. 

With a quick glance through his beak at the cute guy, who was staring at Dick in shock, Dean wrapped his arm around his back and bent down, sweeping him up into his arms. He grunted under the sudden weight, going as fast as he could up the steps of the aisle. The cute guy said something that Dean couldn't hear through the layers of fabric and padding as well as the din from the crowd, but he could feel the rumble of his voice vibrate through his arms.

Or maybe that was just his arms threatening to give out under the weight. Dean wasn't sure.

Once they reached the top, Dean lowered the cute guy onto the concrete next to him, keeping his arm around him until he was sure he was steady on his feet. The crowd was still making a lot of noise, Dean noticed, who then looked to see that the camera had followed them up the stairs. The cute guy laughed beside him, a melodious sound that made Dean's heart flutter a little bit, tapping his arm and pointing to the big screen. 

_Sorry_ , he thought, cursing the fact that he couldn't speak to warn the guy for what he was about to do. After a split second of hesitation, Dean snaked his wing around his back and rested his other wing on the cute guy's waist, dipping him and pressing his beak to the man's face for a dramatic kiss to finish off the kiss cam. He felt really stupid, like beyond stupid, even attempting to do this. The guy was probably offended and the crowd . . . oh, god . . . Dean stopped thinking for a second, listening for the stadium's reaction.

Compared to the way they were now, the crowd had been silent and reverent during the first seven innings, as if they were attending Christmas Eve mass with their grandparents. Dean felt himself blush, though that could have just been from the combination of the humid ecosystem of the Eugene Eagleton suit and the sweltering August day. Regardless, Dean was embarrassed at his forwardness — or rather, Eugene's — and started to pull away from the cute guy a second later.

He was stopped, however, by the hands of the cute guy pulling his, or Eugene's, face closer. Dean could see him grinning through the black mesh, so he held him a little closer to Eugene, loosening his hold when the music stopped. 

"Well, that turned out better than expected," Dean heard Chuck, the head sports announcer, say, his voice echoing through the quieting stadium.

"You never quite know what to expect with kiss cams," Michael, the other sports announcer, said with a laugh. "And now the players are coming back onto the field, the Tornadoes up to bat — "

The announcer's voice died away when the cute guy touched his arm, turning Dean's attention back to him. "Thank you." Dean nodded, wishing again that he could speak. "You didn't have to do that, but I'm glad you did. And grateful." 

Dean sighed, touching his wing over his heart and giving the cute guy a little bow and hoping he inferred the "No problem, just happy to help" in the action. With a little wave, Dean backed away from the cute guy and started down the stairs between of Section L, the crowd's accolades following him down to the field where he went over to his door, his cloth feathers slipping around the thin metal knob without finding purchase.

"That was certainly something," Zachariah said once Eugene was beheaded once more. Dean's eyes flicked over to him as he downed the rest of his water bottle, drying his mouth with the back of his hand. "I didn't know you were a fag." The plastic water bottle crinkled in Dean's fist before it rattled against the walls of the little room. "Oh, have I struck a nerve?" 

Dean slammed the door. "Fuck you." Zachariah's chin jutted out, looking like he was about to speak again. "I don't deserve this treatment from you or anybody." He reached behind him to his neck, trying and failing to undo the suit. With a grimace, Dean gave up, his wings dropping to his side. "I fucking quit," he said, stalking away from the dugout. "Find yourself a new mascot."

_You can find something else_ , he told himself as he shuffled away toward the outer gates of the field, _something better. That shouldn't be hard_ , he thought, smirking. _Mc'Fly set a really low bar_.

One of the staff members stopped him before he got too far, Jo, Dean thought her name was. She helped him slip out of Eugene, her nose wrinkling up at the damp stench of sweat coming from the suit. "Sorry," he said a little sheepishly as she carried Eugene away. He turned then, heading for the chain-link fence to where his freedom laid.

Dean opened the gate with a smile, the summer air a cool breeze now that he was out of that goddamn suit. His sneakers crunched over the gravel as he walked around to the locker rooms where his civilian clothes were. Water dripped somewhere deep within the locker rooms, the only sound there other than the crackling of the radio and the announcers' voices describing the game. 

Dean stripped down for a quick shower, opting for a cold one to combat the heat, and washed away the smell of the inside of the suit and scrubbed the sweat out of his hair. Once done, he grabbed one of the folded towels and dried off, padding back over to his normal clothes.

He rolled up the sleeves of his red plaid shirt, quickly appraising his appearance in the mirror, and shrugged. It didn't matter how he looked, really — Netflix wouldn't care. He combed his fingers through his still damp hair, smirking at how it stuck up in odd places, and fished his keys out of his pockets before starting for the parking lot. Glancing around, Dean saw the parking lot was devoid of people. It would be that much easier to get home and . . . hold up. 

A man stood at the entrance to the stadium, looking down at his phone screen. That alone didn't interest him quite as much as the promise of a large pizza all to himself and binge watching Friends until he couldn't keep his eyes open. What did, however, was the fact that this was the cute guy from earlier — unless there was another guy dressed exactly the same somewhere in Eagle Stadium. 

Dean glanced back to the parking lot, catching a glimpse of the trunk of his Impala, debating whether or not he should go over and talk to him. He spun his keys around his finger, his heart thudding in his ears as he started over to the cute guy. His bright blue eyes soon landed on Dean, the mirth he had seen through the black mesh long gone. 

"Look, I'm not in the mood," the cute guy said as Dean drew nearer, causing him to stop in his tracks.

"I-uh-I just wanted to say sorry for before," Dean said, his keys jingling loudly between his nervous fingers. "I didn't mean to put you in an awkward situa — "

The cute guy's eyes lit up, his anger dissipating with a bright smile. "Oh, you were the mascot?" Dean nodded, rubbing the back of his neck and averting his eyes. "Thank you. I'm not upset with you. Like, not at all. Mick was being a jerk."

A hint of a smile toyed with the corner of Dean's mouth. _Wasn't too far off with the name_ , Dean thought. "Yeah, he was a dick. Sorry about your beer."

The cute guy laughed, his eyes crinkling up delightfully at the corners. Dean blinked, trying to think of another reason to make him laugh again. "It was his. I was just holding it for him so he could call — " his smile waned, and he looked back down at his phone. "Eh, it doesn't matter. Is the game already over?" Dean shook his head, and the cute guy's eyes widened in horror. "Did you get fired because of me?"

"No, no. I quit." The cute guy still looked worried, so Dean offered him half a smile. "It's not a problem. I should have quit earlier. The owner is a fucking prick."

"Ah." Dean nodded awkwardly, looking back to the parking lot. "Thanks again," he said, digging into the pocket. "I'll let you go." Dean was about to protest, still wanting to talk to him and maybe even find out his name, but then he noticed the approaching taxi that he must have called. He extended his hand to Dean. "It was nice to meet you . . . " his voice trailed off as Dean shook his hand. Dean felt a stiff piece of paper slide between their palms, distracting him momentarily from the cute guy's posed question.

"Dean," he said, looking up from their hands and into his smiling eyes. 

"Well, hello Dean," he said, releasing Dean's hand as he stepped toward the taxi and opened the door. "I hope we meet again." Dean flipped the card over in his hand without looking, smiling with a small nod at the cute guy before he closed the door to the bright yellow taxi. He said something to the driver and turned to find Dean still watching him. With a grin, he waved as the taxi pulled away, leaving Dean alone in the parking lot of Eagle Stadium. 

_Castiel Novak_ , the name on the business card read, _tax accountant_. Below his job title were two numbers, his office and fax number. Dean brushed his thumb over the slightly raised letters, flipping the card over to find a penned phone number. _(785) 918-0082_ , below which Castiel wrote. _Thank you again. You can call me Cas :)_

Had Cas seen him walk off the field? Dean assumed the was the case. He looked up to see the taxi pulling into the road at the far end of the parking lot. Smiling, Dean slipped the business card into his pocket and headed once again to his Impala.

_Well, hello Dean_ echoed through his mind as his Impala purred awake, Dean's smile turning into a grin. "Well, hey Cas . . . It was nice to meet you, too."


End file.
